Argh. This was a scrap in my WIPs folder and I had the sudden urge to complete it.

If you find any grammatical mistakes, I’m more than glad to receive your crucios via review.

Note 30/07: I corrected some mistakes, and wrote a proper ending. Thanks Jetede for your review :D.

It just wasn’t right.

“So, Mr. Potter, what does your Amortentia Potion smell like?”

Harry was gaping, the shock and horror clearly written in his face.

“Mr. Potter?”

“Harry?” He felt Hermione’s hand tugging at his sleeve.

“I smell chocolate – and freshly cut grass…” He quickly lied. “And curry, too…”

Slughorn frowned but didn’t say anything. Hermione was scowling at him. She waited until the Potions Master was away from hear range and turned to him, whispering in his ear.

“What happened, Harry? You were extremely pale –”

“It’s nothing” he said, picking up his rucksack as he heard the ring that marked the end of the class. “Really, I just had a bit of pain in the scar, nothing else” he assured her.

Hoping she’d buy it, he left the classroom, followed by Hermione and Ron, who’d gotten to work with Lavender that class.

“Harry, mate, what happened?” he said, his voice full of concern. “You went really pale and –”

“It’s nothing, really.” He stopped and turned to look at his friends. “I’ve been feeling a bit tired since the beginning of the week, haven’t slept well in nights because of the homework… and I probably thought that my scar hurt. It was just a hallucination.”

Hermione bit her lip. “You should tell Dumbledore, Harry…”

“No, he must be really busy and I don’t want to worry him just because I’ve got the impression that my scar hurt.”

“Okay, mate…” said Ron, unsure. “Then, I suggest you get some sleep. We don’t have any more classes after this, so you should go and rest. I’ll wake you up before dinner.”

Harry smiled a bit.

“Yeah, thanks guys. See you later.” He felt Ron’s pat on his back, and watched them go. When he saw them disappear behind a corner, he headed to the Gryffindor common room.

Step by step, the changes in his face became more visible. His smile dropped, he started sweating and breathing hard, his eyes glowed with worry and his lips were firmly pressed against each other.

He stopped and let himself rest on the wall for a moment.

What did that mean? Why did he smell chocolate, blood and death? It was not because of—

No, it couldn’t be. He couldn’t be… Him…

Oh, god.

He ran. He passed without taking notice of the people who waved at him, or the smiles on their faces. He desperately needed to get there.

Myrtle’s bathroom. The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. The place where he lay, amongst the basilisk’s decaying flesh and rotten venom.

“Open” he hissed twice, and soon he was greeted by the same wet chamber he’d been to in his second year. The air was fresh and he felt himself shiver. It was always like this.

He searched him in the place where he always left him. A little black book that rested between basilisk fangs.

“What?” He screamed in surprise when he opened the giant snake’s mouth with a spell. “It’s not here…”

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. The black leather book should’ve been there, he knew it. He’d left it there last night, after their weekly chat. And nobody had access to the Chamber besides…

“Actually, yes, it is.”

Voldemort.

He spun around quickly, to find a rather young-looking Dark Lord resting on the wall in front of to him. He was wearing black and emerald robes, looking so perfect and charming as his sixteen year old self.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, glaring at him.

“Why, Harry, one would think that you are here to destroy my little toy…”

“What did you do to him?” Voldemort chuckled.

“Oh, just what it had to be done. Can’t have little pieces of me spread around the country, can I? After all, who knows who’ll come across them?” He left his words hanging in the air.

“Now, Harry, I thought you’ve already had your weekly chat with Tom. What happened? Dumbledore dropped dead?” his voice was filled with sarcasm.

“It’s none of your bloody business…” He gritted his teeth.

“Yet they sure are Tom’s.”

“Yes, so what?” Harry stared defiantly back at him.

“I think you’re… confusing things a little too much, Harry. You see, I am Tom as much as he is Voldemort.”

“You’re lying, he—”

“What? Did he tell you that just because he was a younger version of me he couldn’t have murdered your parents, that you should not hate him? Are you that naïve, Harry?” His blood red eyes were shining with dark amusement. “He was trying to survive. He was manipulating you so you didn’t throw him away, so he could suck out your life force to seek me out and save the few remnants of his soul.”

“SHUT UP!” Screamed an enraged Harry, pointing at the Dark Lord with his wand. “You don’t know anything… it was not supposed to be like this! I was trying to find out more about you to finally kill you; I didn’t expect the diary to have the remnants of Tom’s soul… I…” The green-eyed boy was shaking. Voldemort smirked.

“I thought about taking it to Dumbledore, to destroy it. But I thought that it would be a better idea to see if I could gather more information about you… but I didn’t see… I wasn’t prepared…” Harry bit his lip, and shook his head.

“With this… how could have that happened?” He whispered to himself. Voldemort seemed amused at his nemesis’ denial, and softly hissed:

“Did the poor hero fall in love with the bad, bad villain?” He said, mockingly. Harry raised his head, and looked at him with pure hatred in his eyes.

“This is your all fault! You planned all of this!” He shouted, waving his wand at the Dark Lord. “Bombarda!”

“Are you going to kill me, Harry?” He said, wordlessly raising a shield without effort. “Because it’ll take more than this to do it,” Voldemort cruelly smiled, and shot a curse at the boy. Harry barely dodged it.

“Sectusempra!”

The Dark Lord’s smile grew wider, and his eyes narrowed as he reflected the curse. “My, my, how the mighty have fallen. Using dark arts, Harry? Did your beloved Tom taught you?”

“You bastard…” The teen spat. “You planned all of this since the beginning…”

“Although I’ve been known to use such methods in my plans, I wasn’t aware of the remnants of this horcrux until a week ago.” The man leaned casually in the wall behind him, and looked at him smugly, very much like the Tom Riddle Harry fought in his second year. “You see, for a cold-hearted man like me, to feel such intense emotions pulling at me for no reason, was quite a shock…”

Harry looked dumb-struck, but he quickly composed himself.

“You’re lying.”

“And why, pray tell me, would I do that?”

“Because you’re a murderous bastard.”

Voldemort laughed, cold and emotionless, and Harry had to suppress a shiver.

“Interesting theory; the problem is that I haven’t killed you yet.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, but tell me, I’m dying to know why.” He said.

“I’m sure you’d like the answer to be ‘torture’ but reality is not quite as simple as that.”

“Then? What is it? Abducting me to cause mayhem and chaos?”

Voldemort smirked, and walked a few steps closer to his nemesis.

“Tell me, Harry, what does Amortentia smell like to you?”

Voldemort looked emotionless as the boy frowned. His expression quickly turned to one of pure horror and shock, and his green eyes rose to meet his scarlet orbs.

“Pity I wasn’t right. I would have loved to hear about Dumbledore’s demise. So that’s why you came here, Harry?”

“N-no…” The boy said, shaking his head. He fell to his knees, and tried to support himself by grabbing a piece of decaying Basilisk flesh that stuck out from the corpse. He could not care less about what he was holding at that moment.

Voldemort took the chance and walked closer to the teenager, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You could blame it all on Tom.”

“You’re Tom.”

“What does it say about you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb on me, Harry.” He said leaning close to the boy; his mouth was near Harry’s ear. “I am the one you hate. I am the one you smell…”

He got up, and stood in front of Harry.

“You always seek me in the end; I define your existence. That scar, that mark… Our fates are entwined together. You say it’s revenge, but you smelt it, Harry. It was hidden underneath all the lies the old coot fed you with, all those countless hours we spent trying to find a way to kill each other…”

“No, no, no way…”

“Tell me, what does amortentia smell like to you?”

Harry’s green eyes were filled with tears, and he pressed his hands on his ears. The gesture made Voldemort’s smirk grow wider.

“Harry…”

“GO AWAY!”

Harry. He felt a presence in his mind.

“Nonononononononononononono…”

“Does anyone know anything else about the Amortentia potion?” He raised his hand.

“Mr. Potter?”

“The smell depends on the person, and it’s said to be the smell of true love.”

“Correct! Five points to Gryffindor. Now, Mr. Potter, come here and tell us what you smell.”

GET OUT OF MY HEAD.

Voldemort stumbled backwards with a displeased look in his face.

“I wonder how much it’ll take to tore it out from Ms. Granger throat then. Or perhaps Mr. Weasley would be easier?”

Harry saw red.

“Don’t you ever dare to touch my friends!”

“Then tell me, Harry.”

The older man saw the indecision flicker across those brilliant green eyes, and hissed in a low, dangerous tone, “I’m sure my Death Eaters would love having a mudblood to play with…”

“Chocolate!” He cried out, almost desperately. “It smelt like chocolate, and blood and death.”

Voldemort hissed something, and smirked. Harry couldn’t hear it, but he was sure he’d talked in parseltongue. Before he could even react, Voldemort had gotten closer to him, his body almost touching Harry’s. The Dark Lord’s warm breath washed over his ear when he leaned closer to whisper at him, sending shivers through his body.

“Harry, do you know what Amortentia smells like to me? It smells like death, honey and sweat… Do you want to know why?”

Harry wished he could say no, but his body was frozen. It was because of the diary’s soul? He didn’t want to find out. He wanted to get out, to pretend it had never happened, that he still hated Voldemort… but his heart was caught in his throat; his blood was pounding loudly in his ears and he was sure the older man could hear it.

“Do you want to know why?” Voldemort asked again, a bit more forcefully, his body hovering over Harry.

“N-no…”

Harry felt his lips being brutally taken, and his arms closing in a tight embrace around that lean torso which was pressed against his own. He closed his eyes, and felt the ghost of a serpentine smirk take over the other man’s lips.

Because you’re mine.

“I win.”

Harry looked up and stared at those cold red eyes. He abruptly felt the air leave his lungs.

“What have I done?” He said, in a breathless whisper. He closed his eyes for a second, and fervently wished everything could go back to normal.

“It’s too late.” The red-eyed monster whispered into his ear, as he picked him up from the floor. Harry realized he was under a full-body bind, and tried to fight it off, but to no avail.

.

Friends. Hermione. Ron. Gryffindor. Slytherin.

Betrayal.

Betrayal.

He was just like Peter.

But why is it such a sin to sin for love?

It was real love? Or it was just some kind of delusion caused by the smell of Amortentia?

No. Everything was real. Everything hurt. The pain in his chest was not a delusion, even if he wanted to pretend it was. The diary, the love, Tom, Volemort. His betrayal.

It was all real.

His eyes closed for a brief second while Voldemort activated a Portkey.

“What’ll happen now?” Harry asked, sitting on the floor of Riddle manor, staring hopelessly outside the window. It was raining.

“You realized you can not go back.” It was not a question.

Harry felt his eyes water.

“No.”

“Even if you went back, they’d eventually discover the truth.” Voldemort ran a hand through Harry’s hair, but it was far from a gentle caress. “ ‘Harry, why didn’t you attack You-Know-Who?’ ‘Harry, why didn’t you die for us?’ What’d happen then?”

The green-eyed boy turned to the Dark Lord, and said in a small voice; “they’d hate me.”

“Exactly,” the older man smirked; “then who’s the betrayer?”

“Me.”

“Really? What should they hold you responsible for? Not killing the man you love?”

Harry shook his head.

“Admit it. It’s part of the human nature. Love is sacred until you fall for your enemy. Then they call it treachery.”

“I am a traitor.”

“To yourself or to your so-called friends?”

Harry covered his face with his hands, and silently cried.

It was too late. He could not kill him. He could not fight against them. He could not go back.

He’d turned his back on everything he’d once loved and respected.

What was left of him now?

Harry raised his head, and his eyes met Voldemort’s.

Harry. Just Harry.

The one who loved Lord Voldemort.

Young, inexperienced lips claimed older ones, and Harry enjoyed the taste of chocolate, blood and death for the first time.

“Does anyone know anything else about the Amortentia potion? Mr. Potter?”

Harry smirked.

“The spell of Amortentia doesn’t lie in the potion itself. It is just an excuse to smell the scent of true love.”